


what can i do for you?

by orphan_account



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: (Pining!Michael mostly), Angst, Apathy, Established Friendship, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Pining, internalized feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 17:57:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14774420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The post-SQUIP tribulations for Middleborough High had been rather simple and manageable, surprisingly. Students resulted in being able to get along a lot easier; the air in the school was more relaxed and open, and while spirit and competition still was there, things were just a little more friendlier.The iconic, Cool group of now-seniors recovered over the summer from the ordeal, which of course included Jenna Rolan, Jake Dillinger, Chloe Valentine, Brooke Lohst, and eventually Rich Goranski.Though, not everything was so easy for Jeremy Heere, who’s guilty conscious leads him to an unrequited, anxious path over a question that doesn’t have one simple solution.Or maybe it does.





	what can i do for you?

Through the Jeremy walked through the halls, it was doubtful that he wasn’t anxious all day.

Every step had his feet tredging low to the ground through the school corridors, hardly bothering to raise himself aloft the ground; and still, it seemed like he cautiously planned it too carefully.

The way he walked looked awkward and dubious, infact his entire body that day, his low-hanging shoulders, his focused, tentative appearance between furrowed brows and darted eyes; the way his hands, which drooped either side of his torso, still made obscene gestures as though he was talking to someone, felt out of place.

And Michael examined these signs as he passed by Jeremy in the halls to class, and even when he finally got the chance to talk to Jeremy at lunch, he watched him fidget with his fingers, uneasily toy and ‘fix’ his hair, and zone-out mid-conversation.

So finally, after a particularly delayed and half-assed laugh to a joke he’d usually find hilarious, Michael was fed up enough to just bare the question.

“What’s wrong, Jere?” asks Michael, and his tone in the canteen switches from the loud, nerdy, proud jokester to a low, throaty voice, one that radiated confidence.

He leans a little inwards to Jeremy and his’ bubble, and Jeremy flinches.

Jeremy seems to catch on to Michael’s frustrated wit. His body hangs low and close to Michael’s, even though everything else in his head tells him to that he’s scared, and that he should flee him.

His features read an odd, pensive expression, and yet he still looks utterly clueless. The time he spent staring at Michael passed quickly for Jeremy because he was utterly nullified to reality. Albeit Michael had a presence that dominated his thoughts, it seemed as though the lack of concentration only tripled with his eyes locked on Michael’s perfect features.

Michael sighs, realizing Jeremy was still in his trance.

His tone shifts to a more sensible and serious one, which, inexplicably, is raspy and rougher.

He moves his hand and catches it on Jeremy’s coiled wrist set atop the benchtop, while moving his eyes to meet his blue orbs.

This, the breaking of the touch barriar with Michael’s warm palm on his wrist, and the way his fiery, dark eyes stared into his glassy ones, woke Jeremy.

He relapses, and suddenly realizes how close he and Michael are. Quickly, he throws his head backwards away from the tense air, and his face prespires with a soft blush on his flushed, pale face.

“Jeremy, just _tell me_.” pleas Michael, greeting him back into reality.

Jeremy again, turns awkward and flush, and maybe it wasn’t because of the question, as much as his reaction had rebuffed Michael’s hand off him, he yearns for the warm touch again.

 

He doesn’t know what to tell him, the truth? That he was trying to look for ways to repay him? That sounded so stupid, but honest, it was what he’s been worked up about all day.

The thought of Michael, what he could do for him, how he essentially saved him and probably humanity itself, were all things in Jeremy’s head all day; and it flusters him! It makes him feel so nervous, because truly he is truly indebted to Michael, isn’t he?

“I don’t know how to. It’s really, nothing, I think.” Jeremy says, shifting uncomfortably. Michael still holds the same position, his neck tilted into Jeremy with a hunched over back. Though, his second arm now attached across Jeremy’s shoulders and collarbone.

“Jeremy, it’s obviously something. You’ve been worked up all day, please, just talk to me about it.” replies Michael. Jeremy’s eyes dazily fell back upon his counter, and the pit in his stomach gapes a little wider.

“I— Could I tell you afterschool? I don’t really feel good right now..” Jeremy asks, and his lips feel were, to some degree, quivering. Michael’s defensive features seem to soften at the request.

“Am I making you feel uncomfortable?” He asks, in a tone much more tender.

Jeremy shakes his head, responding to most every question with soft body movements and voiceless language. “I’m just really anxious about the whole thing in my head, and I.. I kind of see you as intimidating.”

That was.. odd.

A flush of coral recurs back on Jeremy’s cheeks for the fiftieth while Michael’s expression contorts, as if, for a second, there was a hint of repulsion in his face, before that shifts to something more quizzical.

“I hope that’s not a constant thing,” Michael notes. “B-”

Jeremy cuts him off.

“It isn’t! Just right now.. because I feel really anxious.” Jeremy explains, his voice trill in exasperation.

Michael softly smiles, though his mind was yelling questions. He snakes his arm back from Jeremy’s shoulders to his socket, and he swore Jeremy twitches at the loss of it. “Alright, I understand, promise you’ll tell me, Jer?”

Jeremy nods assuringly.

“Okay, I hope you feel better.” Michael says, and a followed silence consisted of the two of them stuffing their faces with lunch, realizing that their conversation only left them with a few minutes to eat. Still, Jeremy didn’t eat much.

 

 

 

  
Jeremy being this anxious made Michael anxious. There were hardly days where Jeremy showed this intense of signs and even then, he never opened up to Michael about it. He never wanted to admit how he was feeling and honestly, when he did, it scared Michael.

On those days, his thoughts revolved around Jeremy, mostly worrying for him, mostly wondering what he was so worked up about, and lounging the halls while texting him profusely and pleading to _God_ to see him soon; and today is just one of those days.

Though talking to Jeremy during the lunch hour helped him better understand the boy, still, it pains him to see Jeremy nervously scuttle into class, hot-faced, hardly sparing Michael anything except a shy smile.

For Mell, it was hard not to worry about all the things that could be making Jeremy Heere _this_ anxious. Most of his social anxiety disolved after the SQUIP ordeal (due to a supportive group of popular background friends), and generally, everything else became mangable.

He decides not to think about how Jeremy confessed that Michael was intimidating, chalking it up to Jeremy’s aforementioned social-anxiety habits.

 _Maybe he has a Math test or something. A really important one_. Michael’s glances intentionally eschew his teacher in one of the only classes he and Jeremy sat apart in. Their last class of the day, Science.

His eyes part from Miss Swerdon and scruntinize onto Jeremy, who sat on the other side of the room, per Swerdon’s alphabetized desk arrangement. _Maybe I don’t ask him about his grades enough_.

Michael’s weak attempts at making himself feel better all fail, because he knew inside that Jeremy’s already bony stature would _not_ be shaking over some dumb math test.

No reason to be intimidated of Michael either, it‘s too simple a topic, unless Michael had unintentionally been very forceful with him during that interrogation session.

Oh, God, _had he_?

Before Michael could go down the train of thought and blame himself for Jeremy being anxious about something probably unrelated to him, the ringing of his school bell sounds in his ears.

Which, as he came to realize that he’d been blanking out, the noise was probably the first physical thing he’s heard since class started.

Michael’s eyes lapse into reality. Suddenly, everyone was standing up with schoolbags already packed and strapped to their chests.

Apparently he was also the last to know that it was the end of the day.

He quickly bundles up his binder with its zipper and shuffles the book down the interior sides of his backpack. Miss Swerdon eyes him down odiously as stands up, but says nothing.

  
Michael was obviously late to leave class.

The hall, by then, is crowded, and he can’t see Jeremy in the throng of students either charging down the hall or idling by the lockers.

He’d eventually see the boy outside by his 2011 Chevrolet Silverado, a truck he gotten as a gift from his new paranoid (and wealthy) step-mom during the summer to replace his PT Cruiser.

She was scared about how it constantly needed maintenance, and how it was dangerous; so she and his dad bought a newer car. Michael wasn’t complaining.

Jeremy, waiting for Michael, sat in the open truckbed, twiddling with the adjustment clasp on his backpack straps, ignorant to the parking lot around him.

He looks perfect, well, that’s how Michael sees him. He stood in the lot with his fingers twirled in his keyring, he’d been approaching his car, but now, was still, admiring the boy. The boy, and the way his drowsing curls fell past his forehead and shone in the afternoon Sun, how his cardigan drapes down his thinner shoulders and how oblivious he was to the outside. He looks peaceful, even if his twiddling hands gave off his anxious impression.

Michael deliberates speaking up, or if he should just bask in the sight of an assumably peaceful Jeremy Heere.

But then Michael remembers how worried he‘d been all day because of him. He remembers that right now, Jeremy was probably aching from the constant strain of his anxious tendencies, and, that even if he looked calm, he definitely wasn’t.

Well, at least it wouldn’t have to be him. At least it wasn’t Michael who willingly left the picture-esque image of a soft, Jeremy Heere sitting in the bed of his truck, fiddling his thumbs on whatever he could get his hands on.

Because as soon as he looks up and sees him, Jeremy excitably shrugs himself off the ledge of the truck.

“Michael!” yells Jeremy. Smiling.

He’d been sad to see the calm imagery of Jeremy go, but loved to see how he changed. He’d _always_ be there through every change, good or bad.

“Hey buddy. You ready to head out?” Michael says, as though he hadn’t just been standing in the parking lot observing at him for the past few minutes. He folds the door to the truckbed after throwing his own bag in the basin to accompany Jeremy’s.

The boy looks a little calmer, probably because he’s gotten away from the tumultuous hallways and the students he wouldn’t admit he was scared of.

“Uh, y-yeah.”

That wasn’t to say it didn’t kill him with the urge to know what had been going wrong with Jeremy all day.

  
The drive home is narrated by Michael’s music. Like always, there‘s little depth to any of their conversation and mostly makes the rounds of simplistic questions, like whether or not Jeremy was hungry, whether they had a good day at school or not, and what they wanted to play when they get home.

Though, it‘s clear that Jeremy is nervously evasive to questions about his anxiety when Michael asks, and Michael, seeing how his head dips lowly towards his lap, and how his fingers fidget, changes the subject for him.

He hopes that eventually Jeremy would tell him, but he really did have to respect the boy’s boundaries. Michael suddenly feels a lot worse about pressing him about it at lunch, seeing how the anxiety affects him.

 _I should stop reminding him_. Michael thinks. For the remainder of the car ride, he stays quiet unless Jeremy spoke up.

  
When they arrive at Michael’s house, the two ease their backpacks off in the front foyer, and drone down to the basement stairwell; ending up, inevitably, plopped down on the beanbags in a room that was plastered in retro posters, a TV screen, and different gaming consoles.

Michael’s parents were both off at work today. His mum, a nurse, was generally home by now, but sometimes clocked in a few more hours.

Whatever the case, it wouldn’t bothered Michael.

For the next hour and then some, they play on the newest addition to Michael’s console collection, an Xbox One, and didn’t bother talking about anything related to Jeremy’s day.

And as time passes, Michael begins to become more nervous over what the whole ordeal was about.

Why– as Jeremy slinks deep in his beanbag– he twitches or taps his foot, and shoot Michael glances when he thinks he isn’t looking? Michael can’t help but get frustrated.

After a defeat in one of Michael’s notably best games, he turns to Jeremy, and throws his controller down. Everything was bothering him. He feels wrong, and scared, and frustrated, knowing Jeremy’s anxious tendencies _and_ how he said he would tell him afterschool and has _yet_ to do so.

Michael is blunt with Jeremy. There isn’t any reason not to be.  
“I know you might not be comfortable with telling me, but I’m _dying_ to know. Is there anything you can tell me about what’s bothering you?” Michael asks, his voice inflecting less like a question, and more like an affirmation. One that is strained and pulsating with some fuming energy.

His hands are essentially thrown up in the air, paused there at head-level for a few moments. Then, he pushes them back down on his floor, and crawls over closer to Jeremy.

There is a choke, a tantalizing stutter, in Jeremy’s voice. “I-I’m _uh_ ,”

His apprehensiveness sends nervous tingles down Michael’s spine. “I-it sounds really dumb.” Seeing Jeremy so ruined was depressing. The boy fumbles with his words, and his hands, fidgetting with them awkwardly across his body.

He even tried to make up for the tense air with an empty chuckle. The attempt fails miserably.

“I, uh, I’m still trying to r-repay you, for everythi–ng you did for me, an- and! For the school.” Jeremy exasperatedly breaths, hesitating with every pause, still trying to find his words.

Michael sighs.

This had been a recurring theme with Jeremy for the past fortnight, though his anxiety about it hasn’t ever gotten this bad. He‘s expressed this whole debt thing before, and every time Michael’s chuckled it off, and said that he’s forgiven him, that there’s nothing he wants. But it was the fourth time, and it’d never gotten this bad, never to the point where it destroyed him.

Jeremy fidgetted a lot faster with his fingers, trying not to look up at Michael, who murmured to himself, eyes preying on him. “I really don’t know how to-to _do that_. And you! You like _never_ ask for things? You’re just… really selfless, and I just— _please_ , Michael,” he pleas, the voice desperate and melancholic and anxious.  
“what do you want? I feel so guilty for everything.”

Michael sits there, with a face slack of emotion, other than his pitiful smile. Jeremy tries looking at his eyes, anticipating a pained expression, but in lieu, sees a hint of mirth procuring through the deep, ecru windows.

He was, mumbling to himself, Jeremy realizes. He’s in thought.

“You’re asking for something I want?” Michael asks tentatively, his heart was starting to beat fast enough that he could hear it. His golden hands feel weirdly numbed and he suddenly, a whim of pity for Jeremy washs over him.

Jeremy nods profusely, his eyes were red now, like he was crying, but his face was dry. “Y-yes! Really, anything. I just want to feel like I repaid this debt.”

Michael grew skeptical. Jeremy doing _anything_ for him was probably a lie, it was definitely something he’d end up jacking off to and not admit he did, though that wasn’t thinking about that right now.

One eyebrow jerks up and his face grew quizzical of Jeremy.

“You _really_ want to know what I want?”

Michael’s empathsis should’ve probably scared Jeremy, but he was in too desperate a place to feel that. Jeremy’s head nods with the same flush in his face, and his eyes await expectantly for Michael’s response.

He really doesn’t know how Michael was keeping his cool right now. Normally, whenever Jeremy has a panic attack,  
Michael became flustered, or broke down or was scared or reverted to being a complete, affectionate friend for Jeremy to cry and complain to, but no, nothing. Michael wasn’t budging.

Instead, Michael’s hand snagged a small sip from his bottle of Fanta stationed at their table.  
“You might not really like it, Jer,” Michael says collectively.

Though honestly, Michael isn’t completely calm on the inside, because there is this tiny, happy voice inside urging him to say this, encouraging him to take this opportunity, fighting against every rule and system put in place and pent up over the years.

Maybe it was because he’s high or something, maybe it‘s because this is something that he’s covertly wanted for years, but right now, Michael couldn’t and didn’t feel embarrassed about the request.

“but if it’s alright, I really want to kiss you.”

That tiny voice won.

Jeremy falls aback, not necessarily with repulsion, or maybe Michael just wants to think that. There was a noise of tumult. The boy is, well, definitely surprised to say the least.

Though for some reason, Michael doesn’t immediately feel abashed or embarrassed when Jeremy relapses and stares quizzically at him. If anything, he’s amused at Jeremy’s reaction, because some dank, corner has already accepted the bitter fact that Jeremy doesn’t like him. And besides, Jeremy probably doesn’t realize how serious Michael is about this, infact he doesn’t even know how serious he is about this himself.

Michael chuckles, and sighs softly. “‘Course, it’s up to you if you’re willing to. Probably weird to ask you that.”

Jeremy’s features melt from that confused, nearly affronted expression into a genuinely neutral state.

“I, uh, didn’t really expect that.” Jeremy tries to chuckle, and to make him feel better, Michael dry chortles a little too.

Jeremy recomposes himself, setting his thin arms over his lap.

“So?” Michael asks, shrugging. Another sip of Fanta, because now he could feel the anxiety creeping up into his stomach. The bittersweet period of apathy was slowly dissipating.

Jeremy clears his throat nervously. “O-o-oh, yeah. We- we can definitely do that. I’m n– not a good kisser though, so please don’t ex-expect anything.”

Michael’s heart kind of lights aflame and sings at his words, like a firework, but not really. It was somehing he can’t really describe, maybe he isn’t eloquent enough– but there was just this ecstatic, prideful feeling welling up inside him that curses a smile onto his face. There, in front of him, was a nervous boy with curly hair, green-blue eyes, and a stutter that he may or may not have fallen in love with.

But he isn’t going to get ahead of himself, even if a kiss with Jeremy Heere was at stake.

Michael leans in, but instead of kissing him, his eyes glared directly up into Jeremy’s; for the first time in their entire talk, they shared some salient eye contact.

“You know. I’m not going to force you to do this, don’t do this if you’re uncomfortable with it.” says Michael, his hand wrapping around Jeremy’s wrist. He tried to comfort the boy through ravelling his thumb up and down his thin hand. Jeremy nods.

“I know Michael. I wouldn’t do nothin’ I wasn’t okay with. And, and I trust you.” He replies through a voice utterly fraile and sweet.

He suddenly is now _very_ aware of how Michael was lingering in front of him, with his head tilted upwards into his face and his body leaned towards Jeremy’s. 

He also became aware of the fact that Michael’s skin radiated warmth, that his caramel skin glows, that there was a little red flush that peeks out underneath his eyes, that his hair strings out in small, awry strands that somehow compliment his ruggish, handsome, yet casual looks; and that his eyes, his deep, brown eyes, are both enigmatic and soft staring tenderly into his.

  
Jeremy could feel the thick tension welding in his heart from the air, hot, explosive spirals shooting down his spine, the thrumming sound of his heartbeat, and a stiffness forcing him to sit still, though he was definitely shaking. There wasn’t something there, and that something was what Jeremy craved.

“And you mean a lot to me aa-and M-Michael, fuck, aah, please, _ki-kiss me_.”

Michael was pretty eager in answering Jeremy’s needy, pouted request. His hand cups around Jeremy’s face and as he leans in, he notes how Jeremy immediately tilts his head into Michael’s.

It starts out really slow after the first clash, the two were apprehensive and experimental; both thirsty for touch but also very new.

Their lips encroach on one another very tenderly, though, it began to grow more hungry for terrority, for skin; the kiss became quicker. Michael became more adapted to the situation than Jeremy, and the way his lips swivel onto his’ became more passionate and rough.

Michael wouldn’t admit it, but he’s read a lot of _WikiHow_ tutorials on kissing. He tries to emit confidence as he swiped his tounge in the incision between Jeremy’s lips, and as they quickly parted for a breath, he heard a faint moan elicit from him. A good sign.

Michael tries to ignore the arousal that shot down his spine, and instead ran his tounge down Jeremy’s lipline. It was warm, and wet, and Michael could feel the little ribbed patches of skin that were gnawed off. One of Jeremy’s anxious tendencies, lip-biting.

Jeremy whimpers between the intervening breaths, hungry for more and panting into Michael’s mouth. He could feel a slight poke into his cheek, probably Michael’s frames. It was a game of domination, and Jeremy wasn’t winning. His body goes weak when Michael deepens the kiss and presses himself into Jeremy. And, Jeremy wanted that, maybe he was winning.

This is what he was yearning for, this is what he needed, this was the feeling of bliss.

But it only lasts so long, because soon, their lips disconnect, their eyes open, and they realize that Michael’s arms were now clasped around Jeremy’s waist, and the lankier boy’s legs were clinging either side around Michael’s hips. The two were breathing, heavily, sitting in Michael’s basement with beanbags and pop cans spread across the floor. The yellow flourescent lighting shadowed over their figures.

“I-I didn’t expect to like it that much.” breathlessly says Jeremy, and Michael chuckles. He too was catching his breath, and didn’t really hear what Jeremy said.

“I.. Sorry about that.” Michael whispers, and the hand that had been remaining pressed into Jeremy’s cheek softened its grip, and fell off haplessly. Michael’s face doesn’t fall, but his eyes are apologetic and tender.

The dorky-ness of Michael returns, and though Jeremy was in the midst of some estactic epiphany, he lets out a little, wet giggle.

He physically can’t believe that Michael thinks he _didn’t enjoy it_ , when he’d literally been moaning into Michael’s mouth and holding himself tightly into his body.

Jeremy rolls his eyes and blushes a little, then presses a quick peck to Michael’s lips.

“Micah, please, don’t apologize.”

Michael’s features read some shy surprise the boy’s thin hands wrap around his nape and pull onto him for leverage.

“I… I really fucking liked that.” Jeremy continues, his eyes hazy. He sighs into Michael’s neck, clinging to, and pressing his lips against the side of it.

Jeremy’s words in Michael’s ears feel like ecstacy.

“I think we should do it again.”

 

 


End file.
